Fragments and Fissures
by scullymurphy
Summary: Draco Malfoy had temporary amnesia that lasted exactly 2 nights while he was in hospital. So why does he keep having visions of things that never happened? Why does seeing his platonic work colleague Hermione Granger spark the strongest - and most erotic - vision of all? Hermione is strangely reluctant to discuss it, but Draco will get to the truth - even if it destroys them both.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

In response to a prompt by Pureblood_Muggle in the Beyond the Book FanFiction Nook Restriction Section 2019 Competition

**Prompt:**  
He was rich and handsome. Women fell over themselves to be with him. He had it all. Until, in a flash, his life was pulled out from under him.  
No friends, no money, no memory of who he is or where he came from.  
She found him in a bad way and recognised him immediately as the man who bullied her for years.  
Sometimes, revenge is best served at body temperature.

_Winner Overall Favourite_  
_Winner Best Romance_  
_Winner Best Execution_

_Pinterest Moodboard: _ scullymurphy/fragments-and-fissures/

Shoutout to the amazing Shuns for the cover art.

**Chapter One**

Draco's heels clicked on the polished marble of the ministry hallway, his steps swift and determined. They had tried to tell him not to come, but he wasn't going to show weakness. Yes, he'd just gotten out of the hospital, but he was _fine_. Everything was _fine_. He suddenly stopped - falling against the wall of the corridor and turning to press his forehead against the cool paneling.

Except for the headaches. He was fine except for the headaches.

But they came and went quickly. Just sharp stabs of pain at his temples that throbbed and then disappeared - sometimes accompanied by an image barely flickering behind his eyes. Not even a ghost of pain remaining when they had gone.

_See_, he was fine again.

He pushed off the wall and continued toward the ornate doorway to the building's largest reception room. It was the annual DMLE banquet - the one social event of the year that no one in the department missed. Awards were announced, promotions honored, final closed-case and arrest counts revealed. If he didn't go, it would be noticed. And talked about. And he had enough trouble with his reputation in this department without the other aurors whispering that he'd used his brief hospital stay as an excuse to miss this night. "_Malfoy wasn't there? Guess he's used to special treatment. Guess he didn't want to see Potter promoted." _

Fuck. That.

He was actually happy for Harry. He deserved it. But gossip mongers liked their gossip. He pushed through the door - well, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

The room was crowded, loud and warm - everyone already partaking liberally of the free booze. Draco grabbed a glass of what would undoubtedly be shitty red wine off the tray of a passing waiter and downed half of it in one go. _Accurate, it was crap_. He downed the rest and started through the crowd, looking for Potter. He didn't actually want to stay long. He just wanted to congratulate his partner, be seen by enough people so that his presence would be noted and get the hell out.

To that end, he nodded at as many colleagues as he could as he worked his way through the crowd. There was that bitch in accounting who always flagged his reports, _nod_. And that moron senior auror who couldn't investigate his way out of a paper bag, _nod_. The sharp junior auror who kept getting overlooked by the idiots in management because she was pretty and had big tits, _nod_. The receptionist who'd tried desperately to get him to shag her in a coat closet at the last christmas party, _probably best not to nod_.

Grabbing another glass of wine, Malfoy sipped more slowly - trying to present a perfectly healthy and composed picture, still scanning for his partner's inky mop, but having no luck in the crowd of sweaty punters and their annoying spouses.

Then he had a brainwave. He should just look for Granger. She would be standing right next to Harry, as usual. And she was much easier to spot. _At least for him. _

That little hair shimmy she did when she was giving someone a fake smile? The arm gesture that became a bit too expansive after a glass of wine? He should be looking for that. He stopped and eyed the crowd again.

And there she was.

And there was Potter. Surrounded by sycophants, per usual, and Granger standing guard, per usual. Malfoy made a beeline in their direction.

Granger's back was to him as he approached, but Harry spotted him and lifted his hand in a beckoning wave. Still so fucking _nice_ after all these years... Malfoy could see Granger's body language shift. She was wondering who Harry would be waving to so familiarly, then she turned around to look.

A few things happened when Malfoy made eye contact with Granger. 1) Her face drained of color and she dropped her wine glass; 2) The worst, most excruciating headache thus far stabbed into Draco's temple; 3) The clearest image he'd yet had bloomed behind his eyes; an extremely vivid vision of him _kissing_ Granger. A passionate, gasping kiss. Mouths open, tongues twining - he could _feel_ his searing arousal and smell her hair as he fisted his fingers into it.

A few things that Draco knew as this happened. 1) There was no reason for Granger to act like she was seeing Marley's ghost just because he walked up. They saw each other all the time; 2) He'd _never_ kissed Granger in his life, _unfortunately_; 3) He was almost certainly going to throw up from the pain.

He doubled over and Harry was instantly there, supporting his elbow, shouting for water and asking if he was ok. Draco took a few deep breaths as the pain and then the nausea passed. He was able to stand soon after. He told Potter he was fine, but his partner insisted on leading him to one of the chairs lining the perimeter of the room.

"What the hell, mate?" asked Harry with concern. Draco noticed that a server was sweeping up the shards of Granger's wine glass, but the witch herself was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did she go?" Draco demanded, whipping his head around and peering into the crowd. Now that he wasn't under the influence of hot pokers being driven into his temples, he _knew_ that image of the kiss had not been a fantasy. Not this time. It was a memory. He was certain of it.

"Who? What?" Harry was asking. "Oh, Hermione? She buggered off after she dropped the glass. Strange of her actually." He squinted at Malfoy. "And by the way, _why_ _the fuck_ are you here? You got out of the hospital _yesterday_. You should be resting."

"I'm fine," Malfoy said tersely.

"Yeah, really fucking great. Obviously." Harry's eye roll could be seen from space. "Anyway, why don't we get you home."

Malfoy snapped out of the distraction of looking for Granger. "What? _We_? No. You are staying and accepting your award. I'll get myself home."

"I refuse to let you stumble off alone."

"Well I refuse to let you play the martyr instead of being honored for your accomplishments. Congratulations, by the way. Well deserved." Malfoy gave his partner an almost smile and put his hand out. Harry shook it, but looked uncomfortable.

"Look. I'm fine." Draco continued. "I'm getting these pains, but the healers say they're normal - and they pass very quickly. All I'm going to do is walk out of this room, find a fireplace and floo home. I promise." He held up his hand and lied through his teeth.

Harry looked unconvinced, but just then his fiancé rushed up, decked out in a seriously short and body-hugging dress. Even Draco had to admit the Weaselette looked sensational.

"I'm sorry I'm late!" she gushed and threw her arms around Harry's neck, kissing him a little longer than strict propriety advised. Harry blushed and came away with a dopey smile. Malfoy saw his chance, threw the two of them a quick goodbye and dashed off through the crowd. He intended to get to the bottom of whatever this was with Granger tonight. _Why would he have a memory of kissing her? _It was especially nerve-wracking coming off a bout of amnesia.

Malfoy thought he heard the faint sound of Harry calling his name as he moved away, but didn't slow his pace. He was fairly certain he could count on Ginny to keep Potter from sacrificing his big night to run after his unpredictable partner, anyway. He made it to the bank of ministry floo fireplaces without anyone following him, and when he stepped into the flames he didn't call for his flat, he called for Granger's.

Of course he should have known that her floo would be warded. He was denied entrance to the flat itself and instead spat into what looked like the entryway of her building. He began to shove his credentials at the guard, but the man just nodded and waved him on, so he started for the stairs, frowning.

He knew she lived on the top floor, but not much else. Mounting the third staircase he was almost there when one of the steps let out a distinctive shriek as he stepped on it. The sound immediately set off the piercing head pains. Draco sat down abruptly, clutching his temples. The vision, no _memory_, was less clear than the last - more of an impression than a vivid picture. But it was Granger again. Looking up at him and laughing, her golden brown eyes warm. A way she'd never actually looked at him before. Real Granger always had a little caution in her gaze when their eyes met.

Draco shook his head and picked himself up off the stair, furious all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione had rushed out of the ballroom so quickly she'd forgotten her purse - and her cloak. She was now standing in the middle of her sitting room, fairly certain she was having a panic attack. Her breath was coming fast, but she couldn't seem to get enough air. She slid down against the wall next to her fireplace and put her head between her knees.

It was too soon for him to have seen her. The healers said he was supposed to have another dose of the potion first. Otherwise the memories could return. He wasn't supposed to be there tonight! She'd asked Robards around ten different times and he'd assured her that Malfoy had been ordered to stay home.

She should have known that wouldn't deter him.

Her breathing was a little better now, she leaned her head back against the wall and pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe he hadn't actually seen her. Maybe he didn't notice her abrupt departure. The healers said he would have sudden head pains for the next few days, and he had obviously been having one, so maybe he was focused entirely on that. Oh god, was he ok? He looked like he'd been in a lot of pain.

All of a sudden, Hermione felt like sobbing. How had her life become such shit in just four short weeks?

At that opportune moment, a loud pounding sounded on the door. "Hermione! I know you're in there. Open up!"

FUCK it was Malfoy! The _last_ place he should be was her flat. Hermione glanced around in a panic. Should she apparate? Dive for the floo?

"Don't even think about leaving! I put a trace on your floo and if you apparate, I _will _find you!" He sounded really angry.

But if Hermione let him in, she would risk everything. When the healers took him away, they had told her very sternly that bringing him back here before he'd had the second dose, that even seeing her, could put him at risk for improper memory recovery.

They said it would be devastating for him to recover those memories. He needed to erase the last month of his life in order to heal. And she needed him to stay ignorant so that she could move on - as painful as that may be.

He was yelling again, "If you don't open this door, I'm going to blast it off its hinges. And if you've warded it, I'm just going to stay here all night yelling through it. You KNOW I will. HERMIONE!"

His voice broke on the last syllable and she couldn't take it. Besides, she knew he was as good as his word. If she'd learned anything in the last five years of working with him and month of living with him, it was that he was incredibly stubborn. It was one of the many things she loved about him.

She moved to the door, defeated. "Fine, Malfoy. Just stand back." The pounding quieted and she pointed her wand at the wooden panel. Fine veins of crackling blue light ran through its middle and it swung slowly open.

He was standing there, bright hair disheveled, robes open, chest heaving and eyes glittering with silver fire. Slim black trousers and boots, a crisp white shirt - he was, as always, incredibly handsome. He looked down at her and Hermione sucked in her breath, trying unsuccessfully to keep her own memories from flooding her brain.

_A pounding on her door had awoken her from a fitful sleep. She'd been sick with worry because it had been over 36 hours since he'd missed check-in. The official wait period for undercover agents after a miss was 48 hours, but Hermione had a terrible feeling. Robards had shouted her out of his office earlier because she'd been insisting they go in. Blow the cover. But she _knew _something was wrong. Harry had tried to reason with her and she'd almost decked him._

_She shoved her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown and ran to the door, wand at the ready. It was 3am - what the hell could this be? The door swung open and she saw nothing until she looked down - then she dropped to her knees. _

_He was prone on the doorstep, curled up and wearing not much at all. His fair hair was filthy and wounds marred his pale skin. Oh god, was he breathing? She threw herself over him and listened for a breath, felt for a pulse. Her heart releasing only when she felt the feather soft exhale and the weak but steady beat beneath her fingers. He began to shiver and she realized he was freezing. She cursed herself and magicked him inside, wrapped him in blankets and lit a fire. In the light of the flickering flames, she saw a note clutched in his hand. _

_Robards and the DMLE healers had come - everything top secret. He would live and recover. He'd been given something to erase his memory, but there was an antidote - although it would take a month to make and only restore memory from before the potion and after the antidote were taken. For the next month he would have no idea who he was, so he needed a safe place to wait it out and since he was already here… She'd make appearances at the Ministry to allay suspicion, but her main job for the next thirty days would be to take care of him and tell absolutely no one._

_She'd looked at his sleeping form and realized this was going to be very difficult._

Malfoy seemed to snap out of a momentary stupor. He pushed his way into her flat, looking around wildly. Almost the instant he stepped over the threshold, his hands shot to his temples and he groaned. Hermione rushed to him.

"Are you ok? What's happening!?" Her hands fluttered toward him, but stopped short of touching him.

"I'm fine," he ground out. But then his eyes rolled back and she grabbed for him before he hit the floor. He steadied and stepped out of her reach, then looked beyond her into the flat. "I've been here before," he murmured. "A memory; not a vision…" His eyes zeroed in on her with razor sharp focus, anger in their depths. "Except I've never been here before, have I, Granger? So why do I _remember_ it?"

She would try ignorance. A last ditch effort before she had to tell the truth that could destroy them both. "I, I don't know?"

"Nooo," he said, walking past her and further into the flat. "That's not going to fly." He was taking things in - obviously trying to see if something else would be a trigger. He suddenly spun and faced her. "See, I know I had amnesia for two days while I was in the hospital. From smacking my head when I was hit with a stunning spell during a routine arrest."

He was stalking back toward her, his eyes narrowed. "But why was I given such a powerful restorative potion? Why the headaches?" He was right in front of her now, looming over her, tension radiating from his frame. "And why do I keep _remembering_ you?" He stopped, staring into her eyes.

She started to speak; another denial.

"DON'T. FUCKING. LIE. TO ME!" he shouted. She flinched and stepped backward. He continued in a softer tone that was somehow more menacing. "Because I am at the end of my _bloody_ rope. And I think you owe me some answers."

_When he'd first woken up it had been difficult. He had been afraid and defensive. He didn't know where he was or why he was hurt. He didn't know _who _he was. It was so strange to look into his eyes and see them blank - no hint of his quick wit, his restless intelligence. Just fear. _

_She'd worked hard to soothe him those first few days. Talking softly, moving slowly. She'd told him what the healers had advised. He'd been hurt, but would recover. Part of his recovery was not remembering, but it would all be restored soon. She was a friend and colleague, but it was best not to talk about the past during this period. They should focus on the present and on getting him physically well, so he'd be ready when the cure was ready. _

_Knowing the real him, it was astounding how accepting he was of this and how quickly he came to trust her. To need her, and to look on her with affection. For someone with her particular weakness, it had also been intoxicating. _

_Because even though it wasn't the real him, the full him, it was still more of him than she'd ever had. Still his tall, beautiful frame. Still his striking grey eyes and fine bone structure. Still his deep, cultured voice and graceful movements. To have even a part of him now - was ... irresistible._

Hermione twisted away from Malfoy, from his anger, righteous as it was.

"Don't you dare turn away from me," he said evenly. "You are going to look me in the eye and tell me what happened to me and why. How long I was actually out. And what your role was in it." He had moved very close to her again, his voice low. "And you're going to tell me why my most vivid recollection is of _this_."

Almost before he finished speaking, his hand darted out lightning quick and twisted into her hair, spinning her back around. She stumbled into him and his other arm went swiftly around her waist and pulled her against him with unforgiving force. His lips crashed down on hers, his tongue immediately insistent against the seam of her mouth. And she opened to him, _oh god_, she opened.

Her fingers immediately twined into his hair and her body pressed against his. _To be kissing him again like this when she thought she never would._ A fierce kind of joy rushed through her and she pushed the kiss deeper. He growled and backed her roughly against the wall of the hallway, then lifted her fingers out of his hair and used one hand to pin her wrists against the wall above her head with an iron grip. Her fingers laced through his and he inhaled sharply, then kissed her with fierce intensity, his other hand snaking down her neck to her breast, where it lingered for several seconds, cupping, kneading and stroking. She moaned against his mouth and his hand moved down, skimming her waist and hip as his knee pushed between her legs, moving them roughly apart. He reached the hem of her dress and pushed it up with a jerk, his thumb skimming up her inner thigh to the thin line of her knickers. Suddenly he twisted his hand and cupped her sex, neatly pushing aside the thin scrap of fabric to sweep across her. She was slick with want, her body ecstatic at being with him like this again.

"So wet," he panted against her neck, where he was biting a trail down to her shoulder. "Is this how you like it, Granger? Tell me, because I _don't_ actually know." He was now rubbing his face into her bare shoulder, whispering against her skin. "Rough and fast? Bent over, skirt hiked up? Knickers around your knees - being fucked into oblivion?" She shuddered her arousal.

_She was on her hands and knees on the bed. He was gripping her hips and pounding into her with inexorable force. "Oh my fucking GOD!" she screamed her pleasure. Suddenly his hand left her hip and moved to the spot between her shoulder blades. He pushed her down and she went on her forearms, arse up, so he could thrust even deeper. The change of angle unlocked her orgasm with tidal force and she screamed again as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. _

"Or do you like it sweet and slow? Soft kisses and whispered words." With this, his voice dropped to a caress and his whole posture changed. He melted against her. The hand holding her wrists up slid lightly down her arms and she sagged against the wall. He cupped her face with his palm and came back up to kiss her, eyes closed and lips soft and tender against her mouth. His hand below hadn't stopped stroking her, although the pressure was lighter and more teasing. A hum of pleasure welled within her and she sighed.

_Soft morning light dappled the white sheet. She looked down at him. His face was relaxed, head thrown slightly back, eyes closed - a fine tracery of blue veins across the lids. So beautiful. And hers - at least for now. She ran her thumbs over his brows, down his cheekbones, finishing at his chin, then leaned down to kiss him. He slid his palm against the back of her head, deepening the kiss and groaning as she moved on his cock, a slow, sensuous slide. She moved again, achingly slowly, drawing gasps from both of them. She drew back and his eyes opened, liquid silver gazing at her with raw emotion. "You are my everything," he whispered. _

Her sigh seemed to prompt him out of some reverie and he pulled back abruptly, hand stilled on her sex and head bowed. "So which is it, Granger? Enlighten me." His voice cracked and she found that she didn't care to hide anymore.

"Both," she whispered brokenly. "_Both._"

The full weight of what she'd done washed over her. She felt shame, regret. And yet, she knew if placed in the same situation again, it was unlikely she'd behave differently. How could she resist when she'd been in love with him for years? When every day of her life had been a small torture, watching him and wanting him in the face of his indifference? How could she say no when _he'd_ come to _her _and offered the very thing she ached for...

But she should have resisted. She should have turned him away. And then thinking she could do what she had done without him ever knowing had been foolish - and selfish - in the extreme. No, she deserved this - just as he had deserved better.

She resolved then to help him recover even if it destroyed her in the process.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Draco was shaken by her words and by what had just happened. He hadn't meant for it to go that far. He'd only meant to kiss her - to repeat the memory from earlier in the hopes that it would jog something else. But her response completely undid him. She'd wanted him, badly. And _of course_ he'd wanted her. She was the addiction he couldn't shake. His great, unrequited love.

_Gods,_ they'd very nearly fucked right there in the hallway. He had been going for his belt buckle when her sigh had broken his trance. She clearly wouldn't have resisted. It seemed that they'd done it before - his body had _recognized_ hers, her responses - even if his mind hadn't. And while the thought that she wanted him was intoxicating, was it really _him_ she wanted? Or someone else he didn't remember? He pushed those thoughts away and turned heroically from the vision she currently presented - against the wall, breathing heavily, lips swollen and eyes dark, very obviously consumed with desire.

He gathered the tattered shreds of his focus. This was exactly why he needed to get to the bottom of this situation, get her to tell him what she knew and help him remember. What they had done together and its implications could wait.

"Draco," she started, her voice hesitant and pleading at the same time. He could sense a final effort to get him to let it be - to move on.

"No, Granger," he said with finality. "You're telling me everything and you're going to help me remember too. Especially in light of … this." He waved his hand between the two of them.

"No, I will," she sighed, pushing up from the wall. "I just want you to know that the healers advised against it. I don't know what will happen. If you'll get anything back. Or damage your memory further. But I'll help you if that's what you want. I owe you that much."

"I understand the risks and it's what I want," he replied.

She gestured for him to follow her. "Let's at least have a drink while I tell you the details."

Hermione sighed and gripped her glass of whisky. Draco sat across from her at her dining room table, the light over their heads shining on his fair hair and illuminating the striking planes of his face. _So familiar and yet so different. _

She began. "You remember the case you were working on? Human trafficking? Wizard ring kidnapping underaged muggle girls, using them for sex work, obliviating them. Rinse and repeat." He nodded and she continued. "You went in as an undercover agent to try to identify the major players and collect enough evidence to take down the ringleader. But they must have blown your cover somehow. I don't know the details and I don't think you do either because that would be part of the affected memories. Plus Robards is keeping everything about this case on a strict need to know basis." He nodded again, more thoughtfully.

"But the upshot is that one month ago, you were dumped on my doorstep - un-polyjuiced and wounded. Tortured." Her face contorted at the memory and his eyes flicked to hers. "However, there must have been a friendly in the group. Because you were holding a note that contained helpful information. It said the ringleader thought you were dead at the hand of the note-writer, so you needed to remain hidden until he was brought in or both of your lives would be in danger. The note also referenced your memory loss - and its cure." Hermione took a sip of whisky. Draco watched her in silence.

"The DMLE healers came here and assessed you in secret. They healed your superficial wounds and gave me instructions for treating the deeper ones. I think you'll find a new scar here," she traced down her side hear her waist. "And on your stomach." She glanced away, her face blooming a dull red. He shifted in his seat.

She continued. "The note said your memory loss was the result of a potion, not a spell. The healers thought it was likely something given to get you to talk as well as remove any trace of what you'd seen. A very blunt instrument. But luckily one with an antidote, although the healers said its preparation would take a month." She paused and he continued to watch her steadily.

"And we didn't know if you had a trace on you - if it was all a set up. So we deemed it safest not to move you. The healers also thought the less people you had to interact with, the easier it would be on your mind. So Robards charged me alone with caring for you. The healers gave you a sleeping draught, everyone left, and then it was just us … for a month - until they caught him three days ago."

His eyes flashed. "And when I woke up?"

She closed her eyes. "You were … a blank." She opened and focused on him. "You didn't know me at all. You didn't know your own name. I mean, you were a functioning adult human. You knew how to speak and eat and walk and read and converse. But you had no background. No memory of who you were. No history coloring your personality."

He blinked at her. "What about my magic?"

She shook her head. "You didn't seem to remember any spells. You were still magical, of course. Your magic was in you. But you were … disinterested. I tried to work with you a bit and you finally just put your wand down and said 'not today'. And then you never picked it up again."

He shook his head and pushed back from the table, standing up to pace.

"And what was I like … as a blank?" he asked with his back to her. He turned and his mouth was twisted in a travesty of a smile.

"Draco, I …"

"What was I _like_?"

She sighed. "You were you, but _not_ you."

"How?"

"Well, you were very trusting - and fearful. You depended on me rather a lot. Your intelligence was there, and your curiosity, but those things that make you Draco Malfoy were not."

"And what are those, Granger?"

Hermione felt anguished. If she told him, she'd give herself away, so she deflected. "Why don't we try jogging your memory instead of talking about it? If you remember, I won't have to keep explaining, which I feel I'm doing a shit job of."

He glanced at her with more than a little mistrust in his face. "All right. What do you think we should start with?"

"What's triggered your visions so far?"

"Sights and sounds mostly. I did notice the new scars this morning." His eyes locked with hers and she flushed again. "That was the first trigger and recalled a lovely little vignette about how I received them. When I put on the clothes I arrived in at the hospital. They were unfamiliar and caused a vision of putting them on before, but in a place I'd never seen. Probably here." He looked around and then stalked closer. "Seeing you at the ministry tonight made me remember the incident I, uh, mentioned earlier…" She looked away, her heart quickening at the memory of their kiss. "Coming up the stair to your flat and hitting the step between the second and third floor. The sound triggered another memory of you."

Hermione wondered desperately what the memory was, but knew she had no right to ask. She tried for brusque and clinical instead. "Well, let's try to show you some things and listen to some things that might bring up more. Also, smell is supposed to be a very strong trigger for memory. I've read it's because scents bypass the thalamus and go straight to the olfactory bulb, which is directly connected to the amygdala and hippocampus, the parts of the brain that are implicated in emotion and memory." She knew she was rambling, but couldn't seem to stop.

For the first time that night the glacial temperature of his eyes warmed very slightly as he put up a hand. "I'm sure you're right, Granger."

She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "Ok. Let's start in my office. That's where you stayed."

_Except for all the nights he'd slept in her bed, of course. _

Draco grabbed his head and hissed with pain almost immediately upon entering the small, book-crammed room. "Yes, this is where the clothing memory is from," he said with some effort.

She murmured with concern and started toward him, but he stopped her with a look. He spun slowly around, taking in the desk and the slouchy sofa that he'd slept on for the first ten days.

_She'd come in to tell him that the coffee was ready, knocking once and pushing the office door open without thinking - just caught up in her morning routine. He had his back to her and was in the act of pulling his shirt over his head. She'd brought him a variety of clothes, but he seemed to prefer muggle attire; dark denims and soft t-shirts. This one was gray and set off his eyes. She stopped in her tracks and inhaled sharply, utterly transfixed by the beauty of his bare back, the play of muscle beneath his skin, slanting down to his low-slung jeans. He heard her and turned, smoothing the heathered fabric over his torso. His eyes caught hers and held, heat telegraphing between them. She'd swallowed and turned on her heel, abruptly leaving the room._

After the office they went to the kitchen and his next memory was triggered by her stack of cookbooks. "I remember standing over a pot and stirring something …" he said, rubbing his temples. "You tried it and said it was good. You were surprised…" She nodded.

_He'd gravitated toward her virtually unused muggle cookbook collection in the first days after his arrival, poring over them the way he had his potions textbooks at Hogwarts. It wasn't long before he was asking her to bring him things from the shop. She'd come in from her daily keeping-up-appearances sojourn to the Ministry to find him in the kitchen, the frilly joke apron Ginny had bought her last Christmas around his waist, somehow not detracting in the slightest from his masculinity. _

_One night he'd turned to her, eyes bright, holding out a wooden spoon. "Try this." She'd opened her mouth - it was divine. Moaning her enjoyment, she unthinkingly licked the spoon clean before noticing he was staring at her mouth. She'd turned quickly away, but not before fantasies crowded her brain. _

The kitchen was actually a goldmine - or landmine - for memories, depending on how one looked at it. Draco was cradling his head, but also touching surfaces and murmuring to himself. It was clear that whatever was blocking him was cracking, fine lines giving way to fissures. Hermione was happy for him, but terrified of the moment when it all broke open.

She tried to stay out of his way, leaning against the counter near the sink and then turning around to look out the window at the dark. Then she laughed softly. Here he was trying to reconstruct, while she stood in the exact same spot where her self-control had shattered.

_She was doing the washing up. It was only fair, since he was cooking. She leaned into the job, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn pot and then straightened, eyes closed, rolling her stiff neck to work out the tension. At that moment, hands landed on either side of her waist and soft lips whispered against her exposed neck. She'd worn her hair up that day. _

_A gasp left of surprise left her lips even as her body instinctively responded to the caress. He molded to her, running his hands around from her waist to slide up her belly and pull her tighter against him, his lips making an insistent path down to her shoulder. "_You should stop this, stop this NOW!" _screamed her better self. But she didn't want to stop. It felt so good and she'd wanted it for so long._

"_Your neck is so beautiful," he whispered against her skin. "I couldn't resist you any longer." His hands were now splayed wide against her, holding her in a tight embrace. She turned, fully intending to gently disengage and remind him, or rather remind _herself_, what a bad idea this was. But the minute she faced him his lips were on hers and she lost all sense. Her hands went into his hair and she sighed against his mouth. Before long they moved from caresses and murmurs to a tangle of grasping hands and searching lips. Within moments he had her top off and she was reaching for his fly. They'd fucked right there on the kitchen counter, frantic, fast and hard, the release of built-up tension exquisite._

Hermione came to with a start, realizing she was white-knuckling the sink and breathing heavily. She looked up and a sense of deja vu washed over her. Draco was again behind her, reflected in the dark window. This time he wasn't touching her, but his head was angled toward her neck in the same way as in her memory, and he was looking at her face in the reflection.

"I kissed you here."

"Yes."

He rubbed his temples in the now habitual way. "I did more than kiss you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The memories were coming much thicker now. Draco had seen her standing at the sink and it was almost a compulsion to walk over and place himself where he knew he'd been before. Behind her, contemplating the sweet curve of her neck and cheek. It was like stepping into a role in a film. He saw the scene, but remembered little about his frame of mind, except for the sense of finally giving in to a strong urge to kiss her. And he remembered that she'd kissed him back so softly and then … _sweet Merlin_. The rest of the memory flooded in and he suddenly felt the need to lean against something solid.

He looked down at her, residual desire engulfing him. The memories were searingly hot, even if incomplete. He still couldn't access his emotions and only fragments of his thoughts. But he could remember their bodies, the physical sensations.

"You remember that night?" she asked tentatively, a hot blush staining her cheeks.

"Parts of it. I remember how it felt. Physically." He swallowed, his eyes intent on hers as her blush grew darker. _God yes_, he remembered. Remembered how it felt to slide his cock into her wet warmth for the first time. How she'd moaned his name. The feel of her nails down his back. The soaring sensation when he'd spilled his seed inside her as her walls clamped around him. What he had access to now was better than any fantasy he'd had about her. And there had been plenty over the years.

"It's all coming back?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"No. I still can't access how _I_ felt. My emotions. I'm getting fragments of what I was thinking. But it's still incomplete. Although the physical sensations were … astounding." He had unconsciously started toward her.

"Yes," she agreed quietly, her eyes flicking to his. He saw the desire in hers and felt an answering tightness in his groin. "But," she continued shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it. "I wonder if such … strong … physical memories are hindering your full recall of your internal state?"

Funny, but he had been thinking the exact opposite, the smaller brain belowstairs enthusiastically suggesting that they should repeat the physical act in a bid to unlock his emotional state.

He sighed and tried to see through the haze of lust that was consuming him. No, she was right. Fucking her right now - as much as he would dearly love to do it - seemed counterproductive to the task at hand.

"I think you could be right," he said, unable to keep the heavy regret from his voice.

For the first time that night her eyes lightened infinitesimally with a spark of humor. "Well, let's try something less, ahem, physical. More cerebral. And in a different room," she suggested.

He nodded and followed as she led him to the sitting room.

Hermione walked toward her muggle stereo equipment in the corner. _Jesus_, that had been a test of her will. When he looked up at her and she could _see_ that he remembered their first time. _Fuck._

"What are we looking at now?" his voice also sounded a bit dazed.

"Uhh, we're actually going to listen instead of look. This is my music collection." She pointed to an assortment of record albums and CDs, some newer and some that she had inherited from her parents when they left for Australia. "You became rather interested in it and we listened to a lot of these. Maybe some of the songs will provoke more um, _internal_ recall."

"Ok," he agreed, drifting over to look through the stack. "I actually like muggle music quite a lot. I might know some of these independently."

"Well you definitely had some preferences. Maybe they carried through somehow." Hermione stretched. Suddenly the semi-formal dress she'd put on for the DMLE reception felt stiff and uncomfortable. "I'm going to go change just quickly," she mentioned, turning to head to her bedroom. However, before she could leave, Draco had moved behind her and, while staring at the cover of an album, absentmindedly undid the zip on her dress. She turned in surprise and saw his hand shoot to his temple.

"I used to do that for you," he muttered.

_It had become a little ritual. She would come home from the ministry in her dress robes or a muggle-style sheath and he would come up behind her, lift her hair and slowly slide down the zip, freeing her from her professional persona. Of course, it didn't usually stop there. On one memorable night, he'd clearly been waiting for her and wanting her because he'd not just unzipped the dress, but pushed it all the way down, catching her knickers on the way. She'd quickly stepped out of them, still in her heels, and he'd begun fingering her from behind. Instantly consumed by want, she'd gasped and soaked him. A bare second later she found herself bent over a chair, his fingers replaced by his cock as he fucked her hard and mercilessly while he stroked her clit. It had been the most explosive orgasm she'd ever had. Then he'd sat her down on the same chair and kneeled between her legs, eating her pussy until she came twice more. That had been two days before he left. _

Draco's hand still lingered on the zip of her dress and he was breathing heavily.

"Are you remembering … the chair?" she asked haltingly.

"Yes, _fucking hell_," he choked out. "My _god."_ He pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. She turned around, but didn't try to touch him. He raked a hand through his hair. "What I want to do to you right now…' his eyes ran over the pretty lingerie she'd worn beneath the dress and then back up to hers.

To see the want there in the darkened silver… alongside his _real_ self. It completely inflamed her. As incredible as the sex and companionship had been the last month, it still hadn't been _him_; the man she'd been consumed by for years. But he was certainly here now.

"Is it the full memory?" she whispered, hoping to god it was, so she could forget the rest of this exercise and bury herself in him for the rest of the night - consequences or how he felt about it in the morning, bedamned.

"No," he ground out. "Just the physical again."

"Ok," she heaved a huge sigh. "Then I'm going to step away and change into some very old and unappealing pyjamas so we can continue to try to get everything back."

He heaved an equally huge sigh and stepped away. "Ok."

Hermione went to her bedroom and donned a plain black vest top and some soft pyjama bottoms, then swept her hair up atop her head in a messy bun. She looked in the mirror and nodded. _Much less sexy than the black silk thong and matching bra. _

As she padded back into the sitting room, she could hear the haunting strains of a slow and beautiful song. "Interesting that you put this one on. You played it a lot." The female singer's voice was smokey and powerful, but the lyrics were delicate and quite sad.

He looked up, his glance took her in and, if anything, his eyes darkened. But then he became shuttered again. "Did we dance to it, Granger? Sway romantically in the candlelight?" he asked with an almost-sneer.

"No," she said tartly. "We just listened to it. Sometimes we'd read. Or I'd do some work. I taught you a few chords too," she gestured to a guitar sitting in the corner.

He snorted. "I actually play. Quite well. Must have been yet another thing I forgot."

She sighed.

"This isn't triggering anything," he said. "Probably because I listen to it all the time."

"You do?" she said, interested. "She's one of my absolute favorites."

"I know. I sought her out because you were going on about her a couple of years ago. She's great."

She felt her brows lift in surprise. She hadn't realized he'd been paying attention.

"Where is the loo?" he asked suddenly, and she pointed him down the hall.

_He still didn't remember where the bathroom was_. Sinking down on the sofa, it crossed her mind that none of this might work and she felt rather desperate. Now that half the truth was out, she just wanted it all in the open.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione leaned back and rested her eyes, listening to the song play out and then another and another. _Wait, where the hell was Malfoy?_ She jumped up off the couch and hurried down the hall, sure she was going to find him unconscious on the tile of her bathroom floor. But as she passed her bedroom door, she saw him sitting on the corner of her bed, head bowed, her dressing gown gathered in his arms.

"Draco?"

He looked up and she knew.

His face was a picture of raw emotion; incredulity, pain, relief, awe and yes, some anger. She gasped and started toward him, dropping to her knees.

"You were right, Hermione," he said in a low voice. "It was scent that unlocked it." He lifted her dressing gown and she put her face into it. Yes, it smelled just like her. Her essence.

"All of it?" she asked, "It's all back?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. "I was afraid … and empty. A shell. You took care of me. Comforted me. You became my entire world." He closed his eyes. Hermione found that tears had welled in hers.

His eyes opened and stared down at the floor. "You taught me things. We laughed. I _cooked_? And you lied," his eyes flicked up to hers, "we _did_ dance."

She laughed through her tears, "well it was less romantic swaying and more drunken slam dancing after too many vodka shots."

"I remember," he said simply.

She reached for his hand. "Draco, I want to apologise. For … letting it turn physical. I should have resisted. I took advantage and it was wrong."

He regarded her steadily. "But I came to you. I kissed you first. I was a _very_ willing participant."

"Yes, but it wasn't YOU!" she exclaimed, her anger with herself spilling out.

He drew his hand away. "Is that why you wanted me? Him?" he asked, his voice suddenly very cold.

She dabbed at her tears and looked up at him, startled.

"Clearly we've known each other well, worked together for five years and you've never even _flirted_ with me. What is it about the real me that repels you, Granger?" Bitterness had crept into his voice. "Perhaps it was the schoolyard bullying? The despicable slurs I used to hurl at you? My bigoted family? My alliance with the dark lord? The fact that I _stood and_ _watched _as you were tortured?" Self-loathing suffused his words. "Maybe this was some kind of revenge? Of course you'd prefer a blank slate with my face to me." He stood abruptly as if to leave.

"Draco, no!" Hermione shot up too, her hands reaching for him. He turned and looked at her and his anguished expression arrowed straight to her heart, breaking the last of her reserve. "I _didn't_ prefer him to you. I _love _you_!_ I've loved you for five years!" she cried. "Maybe more. But you've always been indifferent. You were bloody _engaged_ for three of those years!"

She dashed the tears from her eyes, "And he was all I could have of what I so desperately wanted. So I took it. Even though it was lesser-than. Not _you_. Not your quick wit or your or your sense of humour, your confidence. Yes, and even your arrogance. You wanted to know what makes you, _you_? _That's _what. That's what I love. And he didn't have it, but he was all I _could_ have, so I took it. And it was wrong. I am so sorry." She put her hands over her face, the true, full weight of what she'd done and what she'd confessed crashing down on her.

A beat. And then two.

"Why do you think I broke my engagement?" he asked quietly.

She didn't look up, "because you didn't want a marriage of convenience?"

"Because I didn't love her," he corrected.

"Oh."

He'd turned fully back toward her. "I didn't love her because I was in love - _am_ in love - with someone else. I have been for a long time."

"Oh." Hermione felt the dark tide of despair creeping toward her, and her only consolation was that she deserved it after what she'd done.

"Do you want to know with who?" he sounded very close now.

She shook her head. She didn't think she could bear it.

His finger caressed under her chin, tilting her head up, so she had no choice but to look at him.

"Let me give you some hints," he said, holding her gaze. "She's very smart. Very good at her job. As beautiful in an old set of pyjamas as she is in black lingerie. She has the most outrageous hair, even though she tries to tame it. She's loyal, and very funny. She has turned me on to so much good music in the last five years. She took care of me when I was at my most vulnerable. And I have had the most blisteringly hot and unforgettable sex of my _life_ with her. Even though it slipped my mind for a bit."

As he spoke he'd been drawing closer. The last words were said against her mouth with a quirk to his lips just before she captured his ravenously. His hands threaded into her hair and he held her face as he telegraphed all of what he felt into his answering kiss. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and she melted into him, joy coursing through her like a shot of some pure and potent drug. She couldn't get enough of his mouth, his tongue, his wandering hands. The edge that had been missing from their previous encounters was overwhelmingly present now and made even more acute by the idea that he loved her too. _He. Loved. Her. Too. _

She broke away suddenly and looked up. "Why did you never tell me until now?"

"I thought you didn't, _couldn't_ return my feelings," he replied. "There was always a reserve in your manner with me. I just assumed it was our history. That I'd done too many terrible things."

Her eyes softened and she rubbed a thumb over his brow. "I forgave you for all of that a long time ago. And if I was reserved, it was because I was constantly afraid that you'd see my bloody, beating heart right there on my sleeve." She smiled ruefully and he shook his head once.

"I believe that was actually my heart, my sleeve," he murmured. Her thumb stroked down his cheekbone to his lips, where she caressed their molded beauty. He looked into her eyes and gently bit the soft pad. Her breath caught and his eyes went completely black before his lips collided with hers.

This time the kiss wasn't sweet and tender, it was fierce and demanding, his tongue invading her mouth, while she met him with similar force, her hands pulling his shirt from his waistband and her nails dragging up the silken skin of his back.

He groaned and lowered her down on the bed, never breaking the contact between their lips. Her hands moved to the front of his shirt, where she made quick work of the buttons and pushed it off his shoulders. He shuddered with desire and pulled her top up and over her head.

"I _really_ need to see your tits right now. Just to check the memories aren't faulty," he breathed. She laughed softly and nipped at his neck. "My god, yes, reality confirmed to be better than memory," he mumbled, ducking down and swirling her nipple with his tongue.

Hermione gasped and arched her back, reaching for his fly. "I don't want to wait. I want you, all of you, inside of me," she said into his shoulder. He reared up and looked at her and the one glance was all it took to have him helping her with his belt, shoving his trousers down and ripping hers off as well.

"Please," she sighed, taking his cock from his briefs and stroking its length.

"Fucking hell, woman," he gasped.

She laughed softly again, "there's my Draco."

He looked up and smirked at her, then swept his hands down her torso to her knickers and yanked them down. "Mmm there he is again," she sighed.

He breathed a laugh and slid his fingers into her soft folds. Her sigh turned into a moan as exquisite sensations began to spool from her core. She was so wet, so ready for him. He deftly fingered her as she moved her leg up to hook around his waist, opening for him and sighing his name in clear invitation.

He took the hint and she watched him through hooded eyes as he guided into her, then threw her head back as the familiar, yet somehow different, feel of him filled her completely. "Oh God," she moaned, raking her fingers down his back to his arse, pushing him deeper - possessively and a little violently.

"Fucking _hell_," he hissed and plunged in as far as he could, only to pull out and plunge again. He soon set up a delicious rhythm that had her moaning on every stroke. She moved her leg up to his shoulder and rested it there while he plowed deeply into her and the sensations became even more intense. Hermione felt like she was going to fly out of her own skull.

"God you feel fantastic. So wet and tight,' he could barely speak, but his words brought her back to earth for a second. "I'm thinking about that damned chair. I want to turn you over and fuck you hard from behind."

"Yes, oh GOD, yes" she moaned, even the thought of it bringing her closer to climax.

He didn't seem to need a further invitation. Flipping her over, he grabbed her hips and roughly pulled her toward him. When she was fully exposed, knees apart, arse up, he plunged into her again. She screamed with the pleasure of it, then he reached around to stroke her as he fucked her, and she thought she was going to lose her mind. She built almost instantly to a tightly coiled spring of ecstacy and then shattered into a million pieces while shrieking his name. He came not a second later, yelling hers as well.

For a good while they lay there just breathing. Then she pulled back the covers and they moved underneath, settling with her head on his chest and one of his arms around her, while this other hand stroked her hair. She looked up and noticed he was frowning slightly.

"What's wrong," she asked with an answering frown

"Something's bothering me around the idea of _why_ Robards needed to keep my memory erased for this last month. It doesn't quite add up. I think I'll go have a little chat with him about it on Monday."

"Mmm, I think you should…" she said speculatively. "It does seem a bit strange now that you've recovered the memories and are no worse for it."

"Actually quite a bit better for it," he purred, pulling her down to kiss him again. She couldn't quite get over how much more thrilling it was to kiss him now.

"So that's your plan for Monday," she whispered against his lips. "What are you doing tomorrow and Sunday?"

"Whatever you're doing…" he replied. "Although I am feeling rather weak after my ordeal and may need to stay in bed for the majority of the weekend," he said with a smirk.

"That sounds nice," she smiled back.

"Nice?" he said, quirking a brow. "Nice?" She started giggling and he surged up, flipped her on her back and began kissing a trail from her neck to her breasts. "I'll show you 'nice'…" he was muttering, and she laughed a bit harder until her laugh turned into a gasp of pleasure.

"Although, Draco," she said breathily as he did something equisite to her nipple.

"Yes?" he was still very absorbed in his task.

"We were so cooped up the last month. I'd love to go out and do something in the city. Go to a museum or out to ... oh! ... dinner."

"Sounds lovely." He had moved to her other breast but suddenly looked up. "You know it's not surprising you were able to seduce me even in my vulnerable and blank state. You really are the most exquisite creature." His eyes glowed warm silver.

She felt a smile tug across her lips and a blush stain her cheeks. "Thank you."

"I wonder," he continued, "had our positions been reversed, would you have fallen for me the same way?"

"Oh I think so." It was her turn to purr now.

His brows went up, "Really? Pray tell what about me would have drawn you?" He rolled off of her and went up on his elbow, propping his chin in his hand in an exaggerated attitude of inquiry.

"Well," she said tapping her lip, trying not to be too distracted by how utterly adorable he looked. "There were all the things I said previously, of course. But I _suppose_ there are a few others," she said slowly, her own smirk taking over her face as she drew a soft finger down the defined muscle of his bicep to his forearm. He shivered at the touch.

"For instance, these," she pushed him down gently and leaned up to skim both hands over his broad shoulders. "And then, there's this." She moved from his shoulders to his chest, sweeping over his pectorals to his tight stomach. His breath came faster. She slid a leg over his waist and straddled him. "And of course, I'm a big fan of this," she breathed, moving her hand lower to grasp the full length of his cock. His eyes closed and he moaned, arching his head back into the pillow. She adjusted up so she could capture his lips at the same moment she slid her wet entrance over him.

"Fuck _me_," he gasped.

"Gladly," she responded.

A good while later Draco was dozing, drifting in and out of consciousness, enjoying the warm, now familiar weight of her sleeping body against him. He huffed out a soft sigh of disbelief that he'd started the day fragmented, in pain and angry - but was ending it happier than he'd ever been.

Maybe there were still questions he needed to ask and quite possibly things he still needed to be angry about, but they could wait. For now it was enough to feel whole for the first time.

_**FIN**_

_**A/N: **_If you are a fan of Trueblood and/or the Southern Vampire Chronicles you may recognize an Eric/Sookie amnesia arc homage in this one. Feel free to also picture Alexander Skarsgaard as Draco if you so desire. Accordingly, the song HG & DM listen to is I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight by Neko Case. :) Yes, I am always and forever a music dork.


End file.
